Where I am

Me for another 23 days

I saw the orthopedist last Tuesday, and the news was not at all what I hoped for. While this isn’t a bad break, he’s said I need to wear the boot until my next appointment—that’s not until June 23.

At first, he said no exercise at all but then relented and said anything that didn’t put weight on the foot was OK. Rowing is not OK, even though I told him I was pushing from my heels. That’s because he said it would be too easy to start pushing with the whole foot. So I have no aerobic exercise option right now because walking is also off the table. Well other than getting around the house.

At my next appointment, assuming things are healing well, he said he’ll put me in a carbon plate orthodic insert and I will be able to walk. I’m hoping rowing will be allowed then too. Running is prohibited for at least two months and more likely three months.

Long story still not so short, I can’t run the Grandma’s Marathon this summer and I won’t be able to rebuild my running in time to run a marathon this year. I’ve suspended my coaching, which hurts because I was making so much progress with him. I told him I will be back assuming I heal OK and remain gainfully employed, and he should look for me again in late July or early August. My goal at that point will be to regain my running fitness and look to run Grandma’s Marathon next June.

(this is related, bear with me)
I’ve been seeing a psychologist through the breast cancer center because having the breast cancer diagnosis and all the various treatments retriggered the post-traumatic stress disorder I have from being a childhood sexual abuse survivor. I met with her two days after I broke my foot and was pretty clearly distraught about this situation. We stopped the cognitive behavior treatment and instead she’s had me focus on staying with my grief, anger and despair over this. That’s very difficult, it’s so much easier to stuff those things back in the closet and slam the door shut. But that’s also not the way to peace and healing for me.

I’ve been writing what I feel and this weekend realized that this is yet another loss on top of already losing things that matter to me. While I haven’t actually lost running, I am concerned that a second bone has just broken while doing the sport I love. Sure, my pelvis fracture was due to too heavy a running load. I don’t deny that. But this foot bone was not. I’ve trained safely and sanely and paid strict attention to any niggles or pain in my body. I had no warning from my foot, not a twinge, at least not until the bone just broke.

When I was in my early 30s, I had a career-ending injury—I was a musician (oboist) and developed a terrible case of tendonitis in my right thumb, which spread to my hand and up my arm to my elbow and shoulder. And when I say terrible case, I mean I couldn’t sign my name to a check kind of terrible. I went through six months of physical therapy and about six months later, tried to play again. The tendonitis immediately came back. I lost something that had been part of my life since I was 10 years old and completely shaped my identity. I don’t know that I ever acknowledged that loss or felt any of that grief, except on the inside.

That’s been my fear, that I will lose running—something I love, that leaves me feeling calm and relaxed and as though I’ve accomplished something.